Todd Stadler's blog

On giving money to people

Two people asked me for money last week.

One was a guy on the street who asked for spare change for food. I said no to him, though I felt somewhat guilty about it immediately afterward.

The other guy is running for mayor, attempting to get public funding for his campaign, which requires that he get at least 1,000 five-dollar contributions. He didn't even ask me directly, but I gave him five dollars without thinking about it very much.

Now, in my defense, I encounter a lot more people on the street asking for my money than I do mayoral candidates, so if one thinks in terms of establishing precedent, it's a bit less frightening to give five dollars to the latter.

Also, this particular candidate's running means I will have a choice in the upcoming election, whereas before there was only one person apparently destined for the mayorship. A lack of opposition makes for bad politics in my mind, so my donation paid benefits to me and, I'd like to think, the rest of Portland.

But if I can be that free with my money with people who already have lots of money (this particular candidate also being the head of a large travel agency), surely I can give a little more to people who are less well off (directly, that is — besides my donations to charity).

For, while it is possible that my political donation will effect change for me (my electoral choices) and the city (an actual mayoral contest), it is also probable that giving to a guy on the street will effect more change for him (food or whatever he'll be able to buy that he couldn't before).

Anyhow, my new plan is that, when someone asks me for money for food, if there's a reasonably priced food place nearby and I have the time (the trick, of course, lies in being as generous with my time as I plan to be with my money), I'll walk there with them and buy them some food.

Some might ask, "Why not just give the guy some change and let that be that?" Or even, "Why do you put more strings on giving to the poor than on giving to the rich?" Those are fair questions. I suppose the answer is partly due to experience, but possibly also due to ignorance or even classism.

As for experience, in the past when I've talked to people who wanted money, it has become apparent that some of them did not really want it for food (as they initially claimed), but for some other purpose (likely not as wholesome as food, or they would not have told me that story first).

As for ignorance, I honestly don't know what the mayoral candidate is going to do with my donation, or how I could earmark it for purposes I approve of. So I don't think it's an option.

And as for classism, I guess there's the presumption (always based on some amount of experience or fact) that people begging on the street often use the money they receive for alcohol and drugs, which I don't want to support. Of course, the other presumption is that the political candidate will not do such things. And frankly, there are a lot of facts out there that contradict that presumption.

But that's my idea. If someone asks me for money for food, I will, within reason, buy them food. What do you think?

Portland movies: still lousy

I'll write the story just as I read it in the Oregonian:

Portland has been the setting for so many stinker movies over the years — Men of Honor or Body of Evidence, anyone? — that we're long overdue for a film to come along and break what feels like a civic curse.

We just may have it with Untraceable, a thriller starring Diane Lane as an FBI agent on the hunt for a serial killer who uses the Internet ...

That's where my mind trailed off. "A serial killer who uses the Internet ..." Nope, it's gonna stink, too.

Criminy. Can't they make one decent movie in this town?

2007: the year in ferrets

Ah, 2008! A new year, a new number to write or type, and new calendars.

I used to not like calendars very much — they cramped my style. Or something. And then one year I allegedly may or may not have forgotten one or more of my parents' birthdays (technically, I knew exactly what day they took place on; the problem lay in my being unaware that said days had already occurred). Oddly, after that, my parents started giving me calendars for Christmas gifts. What a coincidence! Or, as they say in Spanish, ¡tengo mucha vergüenza!

Anyhow, for some reason, I've always loved lousy calendars. I suppose I could scour the calendar section of my local bookstore (calendars are books?) for that one calendar that really expresses who I am as a person — my greatest wants, my deepest fears, and my occasional hobbies. But I find it much easier to just pick one of the many truly terrible calendars that get cranked out every year and slap it on some wall.

Nota bene: It's especially easier if you wait until after the new year to buy your calendar. For some reason, the economic value of calendars drops precipitously in the first week of January. This is odd, because if you want to buy a calendar in September — by which point it is, by weight, more picture book than time-keeping device — you'll pay full price. But if, like me, you're a bit lax in your time-marking (cf. the aforementioned parent story), then you are rewarded with a cheaper way to largely ignore the passing of time. I like to think of it as the procrastinator's credit.

Anyhow, the walls of my rooms have seen a wide variety of calendrical turpitude. Care Bears, Mr. Winkle, ... you name it, I've tacked it on my wall and occasionally looked at it.

But 2007 saw the apotheosis of bad calendars, I believe. You see, for reasons no one is sure about, some time after the beginning of the year, someone drops off stacks of cheap (presumably unwanted) calendars at Julia's work place, to be shared freely by her and her coworkers. (Yet another win for procrastinators, I say.) It is through this largesse that we have had, in recent years, a calendar featuring classical Japanese paintings, as well as a variety of John Deere tractors.

But like I said, 2007 was special. For that year, the Stadler household was proud to display Ferret Frenzy, which I humbly submit as best-worst calendar of 2007, Mustelidae-related or otherwise.

What is Ferret Frenzy? Well, here's how I imagine it was pitched: "Okay, see, you know how lots of crazy people like ferrets? Well, they probably like TV, too — not so much the current shows as the daytime syndicated fare from the 70s or before. Which they watch while they eat Doritos from the bag while still in their underwear. Anyhow, they eat that ferret crap up like so many trans fats. I can get a designer to whip up twelve calendar images in about an hour. We'll need some stock ferret photos and access to Google image search."

January 2007: Zorro

Fig. A: Don't tell him that zorro is Spanish for "fox".

Think I'm joking about the hackitude of this calendar? Check out January's Zorro riff. I wouldn't have even known it was supposed to be Zorro except for what is probably the best Photoshopped part about it: the ridiculously curlicue F at left. Never mind that (a) that F is way too ornate for even Zorro's legendary sword work and (b) you don't etch walls with swords, the point is that this sword-wielding fellow has carved a letter, and that's very Zorro-esque of him. I guess.

What you're not supposed to notice is how the ferret's paw has been crudely Photoshopped into (and through) the sword handle because, well, ferrets don't have opposable thumbs, much less terribly distinct digits. Oh well.

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "Mexican city" (never mind thath Zorro was supposed to take place in California), "Zorro hat", and "tiny plastic sword". Photoshop bonus: emboss (for the F).

March 2007: Bewitched

Fig. B: The true sorcery lies in getting that broom there.

Many of the flaws in Ferret Frenzy 2007 stem, oddly, from a rather fundamental ignorance of ferret anatomy. Now, I'm not a ferret doctor — and I rarely ever play one on TV — but I'll tell you one thing: ferrets do not have legs like humans that take up a significant percent of their overall body length. Repeat, do not.

But don't tell that to the guy who composed the wholly uninspired tribute to Bewitched here, which, frankly, has nothing to do with that show. I mean, how many nighttime broom-flying scenes do you remember from that show? But the calendar's theme is "prime time" TV shows, so it's probably Bewitched. Or possibly 227. (I kid.)

Anyhow, that broom is not going between that ferret's legs, it's going through the ferret. Now, maybe that's okay, since it's a witch ferret, but that only creates more questions than it answers, really.

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "full moon", "witch's hat", and "kitchen broom". Photoshop bonus: cityscape drawn by hand using the select tool.

September 2007: Tarzan

Fig. C: "Tarzan the Ape-Ferret" doesn't resonate nearly as well

This confusion over ferret anatomy — so strange in a calendar presumably purchased by people very familiar with that subject — is made all the more clear in September's take on Tarzan.

I understand the suspension of disbelief expected of me in a calendar like this — I'm not quibbling about the improbability of a ferret possessing the leg strength to swing single-pawed from a vine. But Tarzan's, er, "loincloth" is an inch below his front legs — notably far from the ferret's, well, loins. Meaning that below this image's border, Tarzan's genitals are flapping in the jungle breeze. I know this, and I know nothing about ferrets! Come on!

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "jungle elephant" and "jungle vine", plus a photograph of a rolled-up bandana. Photoshop bonus: motion blur.

June 2007: Baywatch

Fig. D: Mustela Anderson?

Now, I don't want to talk about ferret genitals any more than you want to read about them, but by gum, I started reviewing this calendar and I'm not going to stop now! But that means talking about Mr. Hasselferret's nether region. I mean, how can you not talk about it — it's clearly visible below those would-be swim shorts! This is not a wholesome calendar, this is ferret smut! Gah!

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "lifeguard stand", "swim trunks", and "that Baywatch flotation device thingy". Photoshop bonus: motion blur (on the Pamela-Anderson-ish ferret, but nowhere near as effective as in the Tarzan image).

November 2007: Happy Days

Fig. E: Ayyyyy! Somebody press the coin return lever!

Okay, enough about the ferret's naughty bits. Let's talk about happy things. Happy Days, even. Who didn't love that show?

Yeah, remember that episode when Fonzie died and his ghost haunted the jukebox? No? Me either. Okay, maybe they're not trying to conjure up that nonexistent episode, but that's what comes to mind on seeing this November entry — that, or someone who couldn't remember what was iconic about Happy Days and so watched the first 30 seconds of the introduction one day before dashing off to do some Google image searching.

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "leather jacket" and "jukebox". Photoshop bonus: none, sadly, but one hopes that ferret's "thumbs" were Photoshopped into "Ayyyy!" position, or else it's in severe pain.

December 2007: Gilligan's Island

Fig. F: Hey, those aren't palm tree logs!

Speaking of episodes you don't remember, as much as I watched Gilligan's Island when I was a kid, I can't recall the one where Ginger attempts to seduce Gilligan while he's working diligently.

Also, have you noticed how so far all the masked ferrets have been portraying male characters? No? Well, I have, and it's certain proof that I've been thinking about this for far too long. But I just thought I'd point that out.

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "tropical island", "firewood", "Gilligan shirt", "Gilligan hat", "sultry green dress", and "Carrot Top wig".

October 2007: Miami Vice

Fig. G: Ferreting out crime?

Now, I never watched Miami Vice when I was young, but if the October image is a faithful summary of the show's elements, I really need to watch it in syndication.

I mean, what I take from this is that two psychopaths ran around Miami half-naked (the upper half concealed as such by then-stylish Sears sportcoats), terrorizing the beachfront-dwelling elderly with their submachine guns (!) and/or snub-nosed revolvers. From the title, Miami Vice, I take it that they did this while under the influence of cocaine. Or possibly marijuana. Also: sexy cars!

Google image search terms used in composing this image: "casual blazer", "timeshare beach condo", "Uzi", "snub-nosed revolver", and "black car".

April 2007: The Brady Bunch

Obviously, I haven't been doing these in chronological order, choosing to save my favorites for last. And by "favorites", I mean "those which best served to melt my brain for the 30-or-so days that I was forced to look at them on the wall". Behold the zenith of Ferret Frenzy, April's Brady Bunch homage:

Fig. H: Gah! Gah! ... Nooooooo!

It's hard to know where to start. This must refer to a later season of that show, when they had made a few character changes. Let's see, from left-to-right, top-to-bottom, there's Marcia (who had dropped out of school to become a skater chick), the mom, Greg (and/or possibly Magnum P.I.), and ... what have they done to Jan?!

Has she joined a cult? Accidentally switched the conditioner and Nair bottles? Is this a new type of heavy metal 'do? Jan, can you hear me? Are you in there? Do you know that your shirt is dangerously close to revealing your left breast (or would be if you weren't a ferret)?

Moving on, there's Alice, and then ... um, isn't that one of the hillbillies from Deliverance? That isn't possibly supposed to be Peter Brady. Great gravy, I can't talk about this any more.

Legal pads: whence?

Recently, a coworker sent me an email which she ended with a digressive series of questions on legal pads:

Why are legal pads yellow? And why are they lined that way? Is it because those legal types like yellow, skinny-lined paper? I've always wondered.

The following was my reply:

At one point bleached white paper was only used by royalty, in part because white — associated with purity or power — was reserved for kings, and also because bleached paper was rather difficult (and therefore expensive) to make back in those days.

Anyone else who wanted to use paper had to use lower-quality unbleached paper, which in those days was usually fairly brown or yellow. This paper was "legal" for common people to use.

Of course, back then, there were not a lot of people with need for paper, as precious few could read or write. But the emerging middle class brought with it higher literacy rates as well as a new employment class that did have a need for paper: lawyers.

Of course, lawyers of that time were all too aware of the prohibition on white paper for common use, but even to this day — given the rich history of tradition in the world of law — lawyers prefer to use paper that is "legal", even if the monarchies that caused this development ended long ago.

Of course, I made that answer up out of whole cloth — it's utter rubbish. But it sounds good, doesn't it? I was pretty proud of it.